


Quiet Writes

by quietpilot



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 03:23:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16824130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietpilot/pseuds/quietpilot
Summary: A collection of ask responses from tumblr. Will be mainly Shiro and Galra-centric.





	Quiet Writes

**Author's Note:**

> For a kiss ask meme on tumblr, #22 "in a rush of adrenaline"

The smoke in his lungs burns acrid and cold. Shiro keeps breathing it in anyway: _In. Out._ It's not bad enough to do him serious harm, and anyway, he doesn't exactly have time to make himself a mask. This building is coming down soon. It's as cold as it is because all of the windows in this room were blown out by one of the bombs that destabilized the entire place. The wind blows ice and a different kind of burning smell into his face as he picks a careful-quick path out of the wrecked meeting rooms towards an evacuation point. Ozone and plasma; there must be a firefight nearby, but not near enough to hear yet.

There are bodies on his path. He stops to check a few of the more charred ones; no features he recognizes - a strange relief. _Shit._ This wasn't supposed to happen, but that's not exactly a helpful thought right now. He breathes. In. Out.  
Shiro grits his teeth to keep from muttering again when he hears the rushed footsteps coming down the other hall. He drops back to the nearest defensible corner; he's at a disadvantage with only the knife he was able to conceal from embassy security. He was told it probably wouldn't be a problem. _Probably_ , since nearly everyone involved was already a client, and there weren't any known insurgent groups in the area. He _probably_ should have known better, he thinks, and stills his breath. The heavy footsteps might go right past him without noticing.

They don't. They hesitate right next to his corner, suddenly cautious; Shiro doesn't hesitate. He dives out from his cover, knife in hand, and then in the throat of the tall, sinewy alien suddenly towering over him. The yellow eyes are wide in frozen shock, hands locked up and useless around their weapon. He feels the tingle of plasma up his spine before the discharge actually hits; it's half reflex and half luck that pulls the swiftly dying body into the path of the blast before it sears away part of his ribcage.

He pushes forward past his now _very_ dead shield, ducking out of the way of another glancing shot and twisting into a double roundhouse when the dead alien's friend tries to swipe at him with their claws alone. It jars them enough for Shiro to land another solid hit and ground them, grabbing the weapon before they can scrabble after it.

"What are you hoping to _get_ out of all of this?" he hisses at his pinned opponent.

The vaguely serpentine alien hisses at him in return, fangs bared. "Nothing the Champion of the Galra Empire would care about."

Shiro frowns, but doesn't have the chance to ask anything else. There's more hurried footsteps coming from the other direction, and shouting. His opponent tries to use the distraction to sweep his feet out from under him with their tail, and manages to gain their feet before Shiro recovers and gets a shot off. He's turning towards the new threat before the old one finishes crying out and falling. He doesn't have time to think about it. He sees the flash of multiple weapons and his heart falls down into his stomach; he doesn't have any cover.

But the weapons aren't pointed at him, and it takes Shiro half a second to realize that the voices sound panicked. One of the insurgents takes a blast in the face and falls, still flailing. Another starts to backpedal, but isn't fast enough to dodge the enormous mechanical fist that barrels into them and knocks them out of view. Shiro puts a shot into the last one while they're turned towards the other threat, and watches the body fall just as that familiar Commander's red comes into view. Shiro remembers to breathe again.

"Champion," Sendak says, looking down at him with a completely misplaced smirk, given the situation. Shiro salutes, fist over heart, as the Galra steps into his space.

"Commander," he acknowledges, sounding winded, and reaches up to seize his Commander's face in his hands, pulling him by the thick fur along his jaw to stoop for a quick, rough kiss. He can feel the soot and slowly melting snow clinging to Sendak's coat and the edge of claws brushing the back of his neck. He tastes his own rapidly beating heart on his tongue, his entire body thrumming with the rush. There's no one here to see but a single silent sentry.

Sendak straightens up, having apparently indulged him enough, and glances over him once, before pinning him with a serious look. "Report."

"It's all a mess, but it looks like everyone important got out alright." A pause, and Shiro frowns. "What took you so long? Where's Haxus?"

"Ah, that." Now the Commander's grin is sharp. "It would be easier to show you. Come, we'll have this sorted before the sun rises."

He doesn't wait for response, trusting Shiro to follow. And despite himself, Shiro smiles, and does.


End file.
